


Seeing is Believing

by yokomya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:03:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't the heartbeat that gives away the truth, it's the way Scott is looking back at him. That's how Stiles knows that Scott’s not lying.</p><p>“I believe you,” Stiles hears himself say in a low voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing is Believing

“I’m turning his werewolf ass into a coat.”

It isn’t unfitting to say, not for Stiles, not in this situation. Sure, the word werewolf might sound stupid to a passerby. It doesn’t even really make sense to call a guy _werewolf_ , insult or not. Nobody says that.

That’s probably because normal high school students don’t have to deal with them. They don't know what it's like to meet one, to fight one, to flee from one. Stiles does.

Oh he knows all about werewolves and wendigos, banshees and darachs - okay so he hasn’t actually met one of those but he knows about them.

“Stiles, we don’t hunt like that anymore. Haven't you learned anything in the last few years?” Allison reminds, shutting her locker. She rolls her eyes when she notices Stiles glaring beyond her face, in the direction of the werewolf. The one that showed up out of the blue today, the way they all did.

“I’m gonna talk to him, throw him off his game,” Stiles declares, leaning up from the locker. Allison shoots her hand out to block the way.

“Stiles, stop. You’re being paranoid. You were like this with Isaac last year.”

“Paranoid? Me? I saw this guy retracting his freaking claws in the parking lot!” he hisses, taking in a breath. "He knows we’re hunters. I know he knows. Wanna know how I know? I know that he knows I know because he knows _something_. He’s up to something and I’m gonna prove it.”

“Or he’s just another teenager looking for friends - in a new school - how all of us were as Freshman?” Allison points out. 

Stiles crosses his arms, mouth ajar.

“Okay, there’s- there’s that but he’s a werewolf and until I know he’s not part of some Alpha pack that wants us and every hunter in town for dinner, I’m keeping an eye on him.”

Allison turns to look at the werewolf boy standing down the hall, pulling books from his own locker. When he sees them, he shuts the locker and stares back, swiveling his head as if he has no idea if they’re looking at him or not.

“Yeah, so dangerous,” Allison laughs, grinning at the boy. There’s a pause before he shyly smiles back, his puppy like eyes lighting up.

Stiles frowns.

“By the way,” Allison whispers, “I’m sure he can hear everything you're accusing him of. No doubt he knows we're hunters now too, good job.”

The boy doesn't make any move to prove that right or wrong, he simply scratches behind the ear and looks down at a schedule in his hand. Stiles squints harder.

The bell rings out and the werewolf boy spins around in the opposite direction, almost slipping on an untied shoelace as he does. Allison lets out a giggle and turns to Stiles expectantly but he just shakes his head in annoyance.

 

 

It must be Stiles’ lucky day. The new kid, the new werewolf kid gets seated right in front of him, right where Stiles can keep a careful eye on him. Just in case he decides to wolf out and maul the entire class or anything.

The boy’s name is Scott McCall. He’s a senior - which is a no-brainer considering they’re sitting in _senior_ English - and apparently he moved here last week because of his mom’s job. Or so he tells the class in his introduction.

Stiles chews the end of his pencil, paying hardly a lick of attention to the teacher because he's spending most of the period burning holes in the back of this kid’s skull. He almost counts how many hairs are on his head for lack of anything better to do until the guy turns around, throwing him off guard. Well, shit.

“. . . That cool?” Scott asks, trailing off from a sentence Stiles clearly missed the first half of. He's almost sheepish and weirdly apologetic. It's almost as fake as that lame speech just now about looking forward to senior year blah blah blah.

If Scott picks up on any of Stiles' apprehension, he doesn't give it away. Stiles takes the pencil out of his mouth and puts on his game face, maintaining as much threat and composure as he can.

“What'd you say?”

Scott looks pleased for some reason and smiles slowly, like it was his body's go to response for anything. “Is it cool if we work on it together?”

When Stiles still fails to understand what he's talking about, Scott clears his throat.

“The project? You want to work on it together? He said we can pair up, if we want. If you don’t want-”

“I don’t work well with werewolves,” Stiles answers dryly, rolling the pencil between his fingers, eyes never leaving Scott's. What the hell was up with this kid? Not only is he willingly talking to a hunter, but he's acting like they're both  _normal._ Nothing's normal in their circumstance.

“Yeah, okay,” Scott shrugs, about to turn back around. For some reason Stiles drops his pencil and leans his elbows on the desk, words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

“Hold on.”

Scott stops and waits, like he’s more expecting Stiles to tell him off than anything. Yeah, he definitely heard that conversation with Allison earlier. His face is hard to read, different from any werewolf Stiles has come across. There's no hint of malice, no stony gaze. It's throwing Stiles through a loop. 

“Are you in a pack?”

Whatever he expected, that wasn't it, but Scott doesn’t flinch. He shakes his head. _No_.

“Omega, huh,” Stiles murmurs, pencil eraser going back up to the corner of his mouth. “Why Beacon Hills? Get kicked out of the old pack? Do something you’re not proud of back at home there, Scotty?”

Scott smiles again.

And it’s genuine. Not like Derek - who smiles at Stiles to say _I really want you to shut up_ or like Isaac’s smiles that mean  _How do you even survive?_ \- it's warm and friendly, everything a werewolf  _isn't_. If Stiles is being honest with himself, he wouldn’t deny the tinge of regret that hits when he sees that smile.

“That’s a new one,” Scott declares, body turned completely around now.

“Uh- I’m sorry, what?”

“Nobody calls me Scotty.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. Okay, what is this kid trying to do here?

He decides not to elaborate that he was aiming for intimidation with the nickname. That tact is failing miserably on this kid so far. He squeezes the pencil to release tension building in his hands and leans forward.

No way a werewolf wants to make nice with him - a hunter - not sincerely. No freaking way. Something is up with this guy and Stiles is going to figure out what it is.

“How bout this,” Stiles replies, corner of his mouth lifting slightly, “We’ll meet at your house for this little uh - class project - whatever," he waves off, "I'll even drive you after school.”

“What happened to ‘I don’t work well with werewolves’?”

Stiles already has a sheet of paper torn out for Scott - to scribble his number so they can find each other later - but he tilts his head at the question. Looking him dead in the eye. It feels like they both realize what's happening without saying it. They're dancing around the real meaning behind the conversation altogether. 

Stiles won't let this werewolf make him look stupid. He might be an Omega but that doesn't make his fangs and claws useless. He's not innocent, he's dangerous. All of them are.

Stiles takes the paper back after Scott jots his digits down and smiles wryly.

“For you, Scotty, I’ll make an exception.”

 

 

The last bell sends the students bustling to the hallways and Stiles texts Scott to meet him in the parking lot right away. He then shoots one to Allison about the arrangement too. Just in case this wolf is even worse than he believes. Not that he couldn’t handle his own.

Allison’s reply is chalk full of exclamation points and warnings - not for Stiles or anything though - warnings like _don’t be a jerk_   _Stiles_ and _you better not go too far or scare him._  To make a point she sends one last text.

 _Don't forget: We protect those who cannot protect themselves._  

Stiles doesn’t have the chance to reply because someone jogs up to him, snapping his head up.

“Sweet ride,” Scott greets, giving the jeep a once over. That compliment alone almost makes Stiles forget he’s not actually friends with this guy.

“Got it from my dad Freshman year,” Stiles responds, climbing behind the wheel.

Scott admires it for a few more seconds before hopping into the passenger seat, tossing his bag in the back and shifting until he’s comfortable. They don’t talk anymore so Stiles backs up and zooms through the parking lot.

He’s about to enter the road leading off campus when an electric blue car steers in front of him.

“Watch where the hell you're going!” Stiles yells, flipping the bird instinctively. Scott seems amused but there's no time to comment because Stiles' phone lights up on the dashboard. He snaps it open, mouth a thin line.

“Hello?”

“Stiles, flip me off again and you can forget about studying tomorrow night.”

Stiles leans out the window, meeting the vivid green eyes of Lydia Martin, her face poking slightly out of the blue car, cherry lips curved.

“You cut me off,” Stiles tries desperately, anger diminishing completely. He throws a sarcastic thumbs up this time and her head disappears back into the car. 

“And you were too slow. Bye, Stiles.”

The line goes dead but Stiles smiles, not a stranger to the playful tone at the end. He drops the phone as Lydia beeps goodbye ahead and veers her car off left. Stiles beeps back and takes the right, dropping one hand to his knee as the jeep rolls up to a red light.

“Girlfriend?” Scott breaks out suddenly, laying his arm over the rolled down window.

“What? Lydia? No. Why would you-?”

“Your heartbeat- it uh - it's just that it sped up as soon as you heard her voice,” Scott explains, as if he just told Stiles the weather. Like hypersensitive werewolf powers are part of everyday life.

Stiles isn't sure how to respond. Tell the truth? Say that he _used_ to wish that, more than anything he wished he had a shot with Lydia Martin? Until he grew up and realized she would never return the sentiment? That he cares for her a hell of a lot still, like a close friend, which is mutual - at least he likes to hope so. But truth be told, he probably - most definitely - wouldn’t push her off if she did say - plant one on him.

Except there's no reason to talk about Lydia or anything at all really, not to Scott. Lying to a werewolf never got anywhere either so Stiles throws his hands out defiantly.

“Don’t do that, okay? Don’t read my - don't be - you know-”

“A werewolf?” Scott laughs. His laugh is a low tuned bell, pleasant on the ears. Stiles clenches the steering wheel.

“I was gonna say nosy,” he snorts, cracking a smile of his own. Oh, great, this guy is contagious. It burns out though when the streetlight turns green. Stiles hits the gas and glances at Scott.

“Wanna give me directions or what?” he blurts, brows raised.

So Scott does, all the way until they’re at his house.

The drive is short and as soon as Stiles parks in front of the yard, on the side of the street, he takes the key out of the ignition, noticing his surroundings. Accidentally, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat.

“What's wrong?” Scott wonders, unbuckling his seat belt. The concern on his face is so real it makes Stiles' skin feel a little too tight.

“Nothing,” he answers, accustomed to lying his ass off, and gets out.

He walks up to Scott’s house, surveys it, not looking out for anything in particular, but feels better after doing it. He listens carefully to the movement behind him. To the jeep door shutting and the footsteps that follow.

“Okay,” Scott hums, not pressing Stiles' lie. That shouldn’t make Stiles freeze up but it does.

He’s suddenly very aware of Scott coming up next to him, book bag in his hand so he can take out his house key. He’s also aware of how dazed Scott appears while searching his bag, the way he did in the hallway, the way he did in class when asking to partner up.

Literally he couldn’t represent the definition of innocent more if he wanted to. That has Stiles' nerves firing.

“I live a few blocks from here, that’s all,” Stiles confesses, backing away a little so Scott has access to the door lock.

There wasn't a single reason for telling that to Scott, that he lived nearby, no reason at all. In fact, it was stupid and thoughtless. Tell a werewolf that you live within a few minutes of killing range? Real smart.

“Oh, yeah? That’s cool,” Scott responds, leaving it at that. He opens the door for Stiles but one look sends him smiling again and he says, "Right."

Scott shuffles in, not looking back as Stiles follows after. Honestly, he doesn't know what to expect from here on out. 

Maybe Scott planned the partnering up so he could get Stiles alone and turn him - because he isn't really an Omega. Maybe he came to Beacon Hills to kill Derek and become the new Alpha. Maybe he’s not even a teenager or maybe he wants to take down the hunter families for sport.

Stiles zones out until Scott moving in front of him brings him back.

“Want something to drink?” Scott asks, dropping his book bag and jacket on the couch of the living room they’ve stepped into. Stiles stays alert, sweeping his eyes over the house. It's hardly any different from his own.

There are a few boxes of cardboard piled up in the corner but besides a couch and television, there isn't much else to look at. The walls are freshly painted a violet tint and the floors are slick wood. Besides being half empty, the place is _inviting_. 

It isn’t until Scott goes to the kitchen that Stiles retrieves the dagger from the lower compartment of his bag. He tucks the blade of silver inside his jacket for good measure - the _if Scott tries anything_ kind of measure. More than once, his dad snagged the thing out of his bag before he left the house because the last thing he wants is his son getting caught and expelled at school.

An out of nowhere sensation of _you're safe here_  washes over Stiles. Not because of the knife or the calming color of the walls. It's what happened earlier outside. 

Stiles lied.

Scott asked what was wrong and he replied with 'nothing'. It must have been plain as day to Scott, the lie, even if it was small. Rather than use his werewolf abilities to call Stiles out on it though - Scott said ‘okay’. That's it.

And it shouldn’t have meant a thing, not really. Yet it did. It meant a lot to Stiles.

Made him feel safer, not being pressed too much. Not having to explain if he didn't want to because Scott didn't force it out. That's why Stiles blurted the truth. And now he feels strangely okay - or at least more okay than before.

Like maybe not all wolves are searching for power. Not all of them use their super hearing and super strength as an advantage - at every possible chance they get to knock humans down a few notches. Maybe they aren’t all like that.

It’s comforting as much as it puts him on the edge.

“We haven’t unpacked everything, sorry about the mess,” Scott echoes out from the other room, where Stiles can hear him closing a fridge.

“You think this is a mess? Wait until you see my house,” Stiles scoffs, kicking his bag aside as Scott comes back in the room.

He hands out a bottle of coke and is practically glowing. The same way he did when Stiles called him ‘Scotty’.

“So I’m invited to your house now?”

Stiles almost chokes on the bottle against his teeth and pries it off to get air. 

“You're one of those people - the kind that take stuff too literally, huh? I can see that,” he coughs, inhaling deeply, flushing. He’s not making much of a threatening impression on Scott thus far, not with all the slip ups. He would have to fix that.

They go upstairs and Scott’s room is well kept, sparkling clean, the opposite of Stiles - whose room wouldn’t be indistinguishable from a bulldozed building. Thankfully, Scott doesn't close the door when they enter - Stiles would have opened it back up if he did - because when with a supernatural creature, always make an escape route. 

Stiles watches Scott flop down on the huge bed in the middle of the room, yank his shoes off, and settle back against the pillows. There's a laptop on the mattress that he opens and taps on, pauses, then mumbles something about forgetting a password.

In the meantime, Stiles not so subtly scans every inch of the room. He checks over each shelf, turns over loose papers, opens drawers. It's extremely rude and gives away his intentions completely. To where he could have just stamped out _Don't mind me - I'm tearing your room apart for clues_  on his forehead and it would have given off the same effect. If there's one thing he seriously lacks - it's shame. 

There's hardly anything to look at in the room, it's bare just like downstairs, which is no surprise considering the house has hardly been lived in yet. There's no sign of a family crest, not even a picture, nothing to research later. Scott doesn't even have a poster on the wall.

Stiles isn't' exactly sure what he's looking for. All the werewolves he's dealt with don't give much away about their intentions. They usually just start ripping people apart or they don't. Simple.

“You’ll find the plan to kill your family in the top drawer,” Scott jokes, booting the computer up, startling Stiles.

Stiles senses the tug on his lip, ignores it, and _does_ check that drawer - you can never be too sure - but only finds some books and candy wrappers. Scott shakes his head. 

After scrutinizing everything - more than twice - Stiles plops into the desk chair by the window and faces Scott, folding his arms over the back of it.

“What about your elaborate plan to seduce a cheerleader, bite her, and make little evil werewolf babies so you can takeover the town? How about that?”

“Please tell me that’s a bad horror movie you saw on the Sci-Fi channel? Not something you came up with?” Scott asks weakly, peeking up from behind the laptop screen. Stiles moves his shoe back and forth over the hardwood floor, serious.

“I've seen it all in this town, okay? Don't think we're buddies here- I’m not falling for your little-”

“Is this how you scout me out? You're-" Scott's face scrunches up, "You aren't that good at it, dude."

"I don't think you came here because of your mom's job,  _bro_ ," Stiles fires back, "I think you _want_ something. All of you end up wanting someth-"

“ _Really_?”

Stiles shuts his mouth because Scott doesn’t look so happy go lucky anymore.

"You  _only_  came to my house to check if I have some crappy - poorly thought out- cliche villain scheme up my sleeve?  _Really_ , dude?”

“I don’t know! Do you?!” Stiles shouts, whipping his head up.

They both go silent.

Stiles doesn't understand why he's this worked up. Why there's so much aggression inside that needs to burst from the seams. Why Scott - who has only said and done nice things since they met - has to be untrustworthy. He just _has_ to be.

Scott isn’t impressed by the outburst but his face doesn't flash with anger. He shockingly doesn’t bring out the fangs either. He sets the laptop aside and stands up, crossing the distance between them until he’s leaning down, eye level with Stiles.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

And he says it in a soft voice. A voice that promises there's nothing to worry about and that he means every word.

Stiles is so still, that if Scott wants to claw him across the face, assert some kind of dominance, now would be the perfect time. He’s too frozen to give thought to the hunting knife anymore. 

Scott _doesn't_ slash his throat though. He does this weird thing where he oh-so-carefully takes Stiles' hand - wary of spooking him. Then when he's sure that Stiles isn't going to jerk back in fear, Scott pulls the hand close to himself and lays it over his own chest.

“See? I’m not lying to you,” Scott murmurs, eyes falling slightly.

Stiles can feel the even beating of Scott’s heart under his fingertips - through the thin fabric of his shirt. It’s strong and vibrates into Stiles' palm, evoking warmth in the muscles and skin. They’re both quiet for a while, not a sound in the room, and Stiles starts to grow sleepy to the slow rhythm. A rhythm like a beautiful lullaby.

He's stuck like this, hand pressed against the heart of a werewolf, held gently _by_ the werewolf. It should send him flying out the window, send him straight out the door, send him somewhere that _isn't_ here.

Because in what world does a wolf put a hunter’s hand to their chest? In what world does a wolf trust a hunter with their _heart_?

Stiles almost points out that Scott might be a hell of a liar, that he could manipulate his heartbeat at will. That is if he could remember the point of this in the first place. Oh, right, Scott doesn't want to hurt him, that's it. Yeah, that's what he's proving.

It isn't the heartbeat that gives away the truth, it's the way Scott is looking back at him. That's how Stiles _knows_ that Scott’s not lying.

“I believe you,” Stiles hears himself say in a low voice.

They meet eyes and the air in the room tenses because it isn’t just Scott’s heartbeat Stiles focuses on, it’s the way Scott brushes a thumb over the top of his knuckles, _reassuringly_. How he's still gazing with half lidded eyes, leaning into Stiles' space and nothing about it feels invasive. How he could have turned Stiles into a little werewolf by now - if he _is_ an Alpha - or could have killed him but all he does is sigh in relief. All because a hunter _believed_ him.

Scott slides his hand off of Stiles’ - who recoils back to the chair - and goes back to his bed, opens the laptop, and acts like nothing happened. Doesn't say the words hunter or werewolf, doesn't mention anything supernatural again.

Stiles watches him sit up in delight - something about remembering his password - before brainstorming project ideas. And for lack of anything else to say at this point- Stiles admits he has no clue what this project is about. Scott doesn't scold him, he gives a short summary of what they’re supposed to turn in and that's that.

The afternoon passes and Stiles is keenly aware of every movement, every word out of Scott's mouth, but he isn't sure why anymore. He wants it to be that he still doesn't trust him. He wants that to be why.

But seeing Scott like that, as stressed about school as any student would be, Stiles remembers what Allison said that morning.

Maybe Scott really is just another teenager looking for friends.


End file.
